Souls of Aredyrah 2 - The Search for the Unnamed One (6 page)

Reiv lost again and ordered another round of
drinks, paying for them with strands of shell beads from around his
neck. He had long since run out of coin and had begun trading his
shells for drink instead. His hair now hung loose around his
shoulders, the cockle band that had once bound it long since gone.
Most of the beads that had covered his chest were also missing.

Dayn watched as his cousin threw back his
head in merriment. In that instant he caught sight of Reiv’s ear.
His jaw dropped at the sight of it. “God, Reiv, what have you
done
?”

At first Reiv looked puzzled, but then seemed
to realize where his cousin’s attention was focused. Reiv laughed
and pulled his hair away from his ear. “Pierced. Do you like it? I
won it in one of the matches when the loser had no coin to buy me a
drink. But he did have this earring and offered it instead.”

Reiv’s earlobe was caked with dried blood,
and the earring that dangled from it was made of crudely fashioned
metal inlaid with oily stones. It looked old and
none-too-clean.

“How did you pierce it?” Dayn asked,
concerned by the look of it.

“Oh, uh…” Reiv paused for a moment, his
expression blank. He turned his eyes toward the crowd of men
gathered across the table from him. “My friends, how did we pierce
my ear exactly? I do not seem to recall.”

The men glanced at each other as though
struggling to remember the details of the piercing incident.

“I think it was a fork or something,” one
said.

“No, no…it was a cork-knife…from behind the
bar. Wasn’t it?” another added.

“Don’t be a fool,” a third chimed in. “We
just shoved the earring in. Remember?”

Reiv then turned his attention back to his
unhappy cousin and shrugged as if resolved to the fact that neither
he, nor anyone else, was in any condition to recall at the
moment.

“You know, if I win a few more rounds,” Reiv
said, his speech beginning to slur, “I will leave looking like a
true Shell Seeker... well, except for the tattoos.” His face lit
up. “Friends, can anyone here do tattoos?”

“That’s it. We’re leaving,” Dayn said, rising
from the bench.

The crowd of men groaned and jeered at Dayn,
and many muttered that they had not yet had the opportunity to
challenge the prince. It was obvious Reiv had little power in his
hands and had, thus far, proved to be an easy match for the much
older and stronger patrons. There were still a few beads left to be
won, and the men obviously wanted their chance at them.

A hand from behind shoved Dayn back onto the
bench. The next challenger took his place across from Reiv whose
elbow was firmly planted.

But Dayn persisted. “Reiv, enough of this.
Under no circumstance are you to test your body further. You’ll be
lucky not to lose your lobe to infection as it is. Come on. You’re
in no shape to contest anyone.”

Reiv did not respond, his concentration fully
upon the battle of the arms. He lost quickly and pulled another
strand from around his neck. “Beads or drink?” he asked the
victor.

“Drink!” the man replied.

Reiv motioned the waiter over and held up two
fingers. The waiter was standing by, and gladly traded two full
mugs of wine for two strands of bead. Reiv chugged his down and
slammed the mug onto the table, then wiped his mouth with the back
of his hand. “Who’s mext…I mean next……yes, I nean next,” he
hollered.

Suddenly a voice boomed from behind the
crowd, “The prince has had enough. He leaves now.”

Dayn and Reiv swiveled their heads in the
direction of the voice as a sea of glazed, blood-shot eyes turned
toward it. Complexions momentarily paled, and a few went almost
green. Mutterings fell to hushed whispers and low grumbles.

Reiv rose and swayed by the bench. “Well, if
it is not Torin,” he practically shouted. “My friends…this is
Torin.” He waved an arm toward the Shell Seeker now standing at his
back.

Torin stared at him in silence, his muscular
arms folded across his chest.

Reiv leaned across the table toward the group
of onlookers and whispered loudly, “He does not like me very much,
and I cannot stand the sight of his ugly face either!” The crowd
muttered their sympathies and agreements.

Reiv stepped past the bench and wheeled
around to face Torin. “What is your business here?” he
demanded.

“My business is with you. But I’m not here to
argue our affection for one another. I’m here to fetch you from
this place and take you home.”

“Home? Home?” Reiv guffawed. “Let me see,
where might that be exactly? No, I think this will be my home from
now on. I rather like it here.” He swayed, then braced himself
against the table. “No, you go home and leave me be. I have no use
for you or the charity of your sister.”

Dayn slid from the bench and took his place
alongside Torin, facing the increasingly agitated Reiv with a
frown. “You are full of drink, cousin, and you’re going to say
something you’ll regret—if, indeed, you remember anything after
this night.”

“Well,
Dayn
, since you have nothing
nice to say to me either, how about you take yourself out of here
with Torin. I have no need of either of you at the moment.”

Torin’s tolerance was clearly lacking. He
stepped toward Reiv and grabbed him by the arm. Reiv glared at the
hand upon his person and attempted to pull free, but Torin’s grip
was much too strong. Reiv was spun round and pinned with both arms
at his back. Some of the patrons moved to his defense, but Torin
shot them a warning that backed them down immediately.

Torin turned Reiv toward the door, but his
attention came to rest on a man standing nearby. “What do you have
there?” Torin demanded.

The man followed Torin’s gaze to the shell
bracelet that was stretched around his own thick wrist. “I won it
from the prince,” he said defensively.

Torin let loose his grip on Reiv and took a
step in the man’s direction. Reiv staggered as the room began to
spin. Dayn grabbed his elbow to steady him.

“Well you did not win it fairly, then,” Torin
said to the man. “Hand it over.”

The man bristled. He glanced at the other
patrons who were wearing their own shell winnings, all necklaces or
shell strands draped around their necks. But none had anything as
fine as the bracelet, and the man was clearly not keen on parting
with it.

Torin leaned in threateningly. “I said hand
it over. It belongs to the prince.”

“He seemed eager enough to wager it,” the man
said with a scoff. “Obviously there wasn’t much value in it for
him.”

“The boy’s in no condition to determine
what’s of value and what’s not.”

“Well, he was in good enough condition when
he offered it. It was the first thing won from him tonight.”

Torin turned to Reiv. “Is that true,
Reiv?”

“I do not see that it is any of your
business,” Reiv snarled.

“Well it is my business. I watched Kerrik
work for hours to help you craft it, hours he could have spent
looking for shells to help put food on our table.”

“Sorry, I did not know I needed to pay you
for his services.”

“Regardless, would you rather it adorn the
arm of a comfort woman than that of the girl it was intended
for?”

“Why should I care!”

Torin’s lips compressed into a thin line. He
pulled a coin from his money pouch and tossed it to the man. “This
should keep you in drink and women for a while,” he said. “Now hand
it over.”

The man caught the coin in his large fist,
all the while glowering at Torin. Risking a look at the coin in his
now-opened palm, the man’s expression brightened. He yanked the
bracelet off and pitched it to Torin.

Torin stuffed the trinket into his money
pouch and turned his attention back to Reiv. He steered him toward
the door. “You are going to sorely regret this in the morning,” he
said.

“I will regret nothing!” Reiv barked. But the
moment they exited the place and the fresh air hit him full in the
face, he buckled at the queasiness in his stomach and the pounding
in his head. His legs went out from under him, and he soon found
himself suspended by Torin on one side and Dayn on the other.

Jensa approached from the shadows and gasped
at the bloody ear barely visible in the light from the tavern.
“What happened to your ear?” she exclaimed.

“I pierced it,” Reiv replied, grinning. “Do
you like it?”

“No,” she snapped.

“What is it about me that always makes girls
so cross?” Reiv lamented. He gazed at her like a boy seeking his
mother’s forgiveness. “Please say you are not angry with me. I
could not bear for you to be angry, too. You do like me, do you
not?”

“Yes, Reiv, I like you, but not when you’re
drunk and stupid! As for my being angry, I think I have good reason
to be. I’ve been looking all over Pobu for you and have been
standing there in the shadows waiting for Dayn to fetch you. Thank
the gods Torin showed up or I’d be waiting there still.”

“He wouldn’t listen,” Dayn protested. “What
was I supposed to do? Throw him over my shoulder?”

Jensa rolled her eyes at Dayn, then flashed
them back to Reiv. “Who do you think is going to treat that ear of
yours when the infection sets in? Me, of course. So yes, I’m angry
and will probably stay that way for quite some time.”

Reiv groaned as he struggled to put one foot
in front of the other. Torin and Dayn were walking far too rapidly
for him to keep up, and his feet were soon mostly dragging along.
The jerking movement as they half-dragged half-walked him back to
Nannaven’s did nothing to settle his stomach. Before long he was
leaned against a wall, spilling the contents of his belly into the
dirt.

When they reached Nannaven’s house, he was in
a poor state, and Torin had to practically carry him inside. By
then the Spirit Keeper had returned. As soon as she caught sight of
them she turned to her shelf of herbs and mixed up a brew. They
dragged Reiv over to the table, propped him on the bench, and
thrust a mug of Nannaven’s concoction under his nose.

“Drink up,” Torin ordered. “It will make you
feel better.”

“I will feel better when you are out of my
sight!” Reiv said, shoving the mug away.

Brina crossed over to her nephew and leaned
down to him, her hands on her hips. “Reiv, enough of your
foolishness. Now, drink.”

Reiv looked up and squinted in an effort to
make her out. A pitiful smile replaced his sour expression.
“Brina…my Brina…where have you been? I thought you did not want me
anymore, but you came back…”

“Yes…yes…now drink this up and let us see if
we can get some sense into you,” she said.

He drank it down, then doubled over and threw
it right back up. But Nannaven had placed a bucket in front of him,
fully prepared for what was to come. Jensa knelt beside him with a
wet cloth and wiped his face, while Brina refilled the mug and told
him to drink it down again. He complied, for he hadn’t the strength
to argue about it.

After a few more mugs, Reiv began to feel
better, though his eyes were still glazed and his words somewhat
slow in coming. He pushed up from the bench and swayed for a
moment. “I need to lie down,” he said, and attempted to walk to the
corner near the hearth.

Brina hooked her arm through his and led him
to a mat that Nannaven had hastily spread out for him. “Reiv, we
need to talk and I cannot stay much longer. There are new dangers
in Pobu. That is one of the things I came to discuss with you.”

Reiv lowered himself down and curled onto his
side. “Not now, Brina,” he said, closing his eyes. But the spinning
in his head forced them back open immediately.

Brina knelt beside him and stroked his hair.
“Reiv, I must tell you something, even though you may be too
muddled to comprehend it. Please try to listen. You are in danger
here.”

“What else is new?” he muttered.

“Reiv, hear me. Much has happened in Tearia
this past month. Do you remember the old prophecy about the Unnamed
One?”

“A children’s story.”

“Perhaps. But ever since you were unnamed a
year ago, quiet talk has been making the rounds about it.”

“What does that have to do with me?” he
said.

“Some believe you are the Unnamed One the
Prophecy speaks of. Even the Priestess has her suspicions.”

Reiv grimaced. “Ridiculous.”

“Perhaps, but you are at risk here. You
cannot go wandering about like you did tonight.”

“If she thinks I am this…this person…then why
did she not do something about it before?”

“Whyn came to your defense.”

“I doubt it,” Reiv mumbled. His eyes drifted
closed.

“Why do you say such things? You know Whyn
loves you. He has tried to make amends, to do what he can for you.
Why do you continue to rebuke him?”

“Because of what he said.”

“What do you mean? What did he say?”

Reiv forced his eyes open and turned them up
to her. “He said what happened to me was for the best. That he
should have been king-heir all along. Then…” Reiv paused, distress
washing over him. “He--he said Cinnia was glad to be rid of
me.”

Brina was taken aback. “When did he say that?
No, Whyn would never…”

“He said it, Brina. I heard him.” Reiv spoke
the words with effort through his stupor, but he knew what he was
saying and had every intention of saying it. “The night of the
fire…you stepped out to speak with the healer. Whyn stayed in the
room. A priest came and…they talked. They thought I could not hear
them. But I could.”

“What did you hear, Reiv? What did they
say?”

Reiv drew some saliva into his pasty mouth.
“Whyn said he was glad to take my place. That it could not have
worked out better if he had planned it…that he had no intention of
letting it slip back into my grasp. I know he has always been more
suited, but when I heard him say how glad he was for…for what
happened, and when he said what he did about Cinnia…”